


We Were Here

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Altered Mental States, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Major Character Undeath, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-31 06:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: He never knew just how much war had ruined them all, until he did. Ron and company try to go back to normal in the world they saved, but it proves to be much more difficult than any of them imagine.Disclaimer: I own nothing.Thank you to my alphas and betas: Ariel Sakura, KikkyNikky and And KatalinaRiddle





	We Were Here

_ You’re like a grey sky.  _

_ Beautiful, _

_ even if you don’t want to be. _

_ _ \- Jasmine Warga _ _

  
  


There was something beautifully simplistic in this. Something pure -- innocent, despite the fact that they were decidedly  _ not _ . Maybe the smoke burning a hole through his throat and the whiskey eating his intestines and the potions gnawing at his brain were only telling him it was so. 

He could very well be hallucinating. 

But still, the way her fingers ran through his hair, and the fullness of her thighs under his head -- surely he wasn’t imagining that. 

“Do you think maybe we should go to bed?”

Her words were as blurry as she was, and he didn’t believe she truly expected an answer. No one in the room budged. 

“For what?” Harry slurred, and Ginny kissed him lazily from her perch above him. Of course, she stumbled and fell over the back of the couch, causing the other occupants of the room to let out mild laughter. 

Laughter was such a gift these days. 

“I dunno,” Draco sighed, and his fellow Slytherins had the same looks of consternation. “I never sleep, do you?”

“I can’t close my eyes without the Dreamless sleep anymore. All I see are their faces.” Nobody asked who -- because Merlin knew Harry was talking about everyone and no one at all. He felt the burden of every death. No single person less important than the next, though some did sting worse than others. 

“What do you see?” Harry broke the silence, a soft plea to not be the only vulnerable one in the room. 

“I see Hagrid carrying Harry's body,” Hermione whispered from above him, and he squeezed the hand he was gripping tighter. Maybe he was trying to take away her pain. Maybe he was trying to give her his, he wasn’t sure. 

“I’m standing over the bodies at Hogwarts. Tom has managed to possess me again. Make me kill people. Sometimes, I can’t tell if it is real or not.” Ginnys’ toneless voice caught in her throat as she took a deep drag. Atawoska, a potent magical weed, caused purple smoke to exhale through her nose, the patterns shaping into disfigured faces. Expelling evil, some might say. 

“I see Malfoy Manor,” Draco spoke softly, locking eyes with Hermione, who stared at him. Shame and regret marred his features. 

“Me too, and Hogwarts” she said quietly, and Ron saw the forgiveness in Hermione's eyes. It would be okay. Eventually. Blaise and Nott nodded along, voicing similar hauntings. 

“I see Fred,” he finally spoke. “He always tells me I was too late.”

“We were.”

  
  


_ I drank to drown my pain,  _

_ But the damn pain _

_ learned to swim. _

_ _ -Frida Kahlo _ _

  
  


It started off as a weekend thing. 

They’d meet every friday in what was dubbed the “8th year dorm,” and they wouldn’t emerge until Monday morning.    
  


Hermione was good about keeping them up with their homework, stating if that if they wanted to be lost on the weekends, then during the week they had to get their arses in gear. 

With all of their reparations from the war -- and newly dubbed hero status -- it wasn’t hard to get drugs into Hogwarts. Harry and Hermione ventured into the muggle world when Draco's supply of Atowaska ran short, and they brought a multitude of little hard things they called “pills”. Some were long and rectangular and made your brain fuzzy. Some were colorful with different images on them, and they made you just feel like whatever the definition of  _ life  _ was supposed to be. 

He couldn’t decide which he liked best. 

Numb, or free?

Maybe numb, because you didn’t lose sight of reality. You just didn’t care as much. The ecstasy just made you feel good until it wore off and then you were reminded of just how shitty the world had become. 

He also didn’t see Fred. 

He didn’t actually remember the first time he and Hermione slept together. But he knew it happened when he woke up the next morning with her on top of him. Naked. Ron never told her the truth. He just let her make connections that weren’t there. She still believed in love and that they shared it. 

It was love, he supposed. As close to love as he could get. But in all honesty? He didn’t care that much. As long as he could escape on Fridays, he could get through the week. 

They sat around much the same as last weekend, his head once again in Hermione's lap. 

“Why don’t you ever go home?” Harry was asking, and Ron winced because he could only imagine Draco's response would be colorful at best. 

“I’m tearing it down, now that Father's dead.” He sipped his whiskey, eyes red rimmed. His pale hair was in casual disarray, a striking difference from his usual pristine appearance. 

“You never did say why you killed him,” Ginny mused. 

“He raised a wand to my mother. I didn’t see much option.”

“Do you regret it?” Harry asked curiously, running his hands through messy black hair. 

“I regret many things, that is not one of them.”

Ron understood that. He didn’t regret slicing down Pius Thicknese, the former Minister that made Fred die under a pile of crumbling rock. He had sliced his throat open with relative ease, barely sparing a glance at the pale face before turning back to his brother, begging whatever gods there were to pull breath from his lips. 

It was probably the one thing he didn’t regret. 

  
  


_ There comes a point where you  _

_ Longer care if there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  _

_ You’re just sick of the tunnel. _

_ _ \- Ranata Suzuki _ _

  
  


“I feel like I’m going to disappear.”

They sat unmoving at the top of the Astronomy tower, passing a spliff around carelessly. Most of the students were down in the Great Hall, enjoying the buzz around the holiday. Ron remembered being in awe the first time he had attended a Halloween feast, before the incident with the troll and all. 

Halloween was not a joyous occasion for Harry. It was the night his parents were murdered, the night a troll almost killed Hermione, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. 

Halloween was, historically, a shitty night for Harry Potter. 

Ron just hated the Great Hall, and these days preferred to have the House Elves serve his food in their common room. Hermione nagged him about it, but Ron couldn’t care enough. 

Harry looked at him with bleary eyes, a silent understanding as he blew smoke through his nose. 

“It will get better, Ron. We just have to mourn a little bit first, I reckon.”

Harry's optimism only took him so far, though. 

Sure enough, in the early hours of the first of November, Harry's screams broke through his Silencing Charms, and Ron was out of bed instantly. 

“Take me instead! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you!” Harry's pitiful whimpers caused Ron's stomach to clench. He reached out and held Harry's hand, and the man calmed after a few minutes. 

Once his breathing evened out, Ron miserably made his way back to his own bed, where he found no sleep. He’d promised to be there for his friend, to protect him, to make sure he was okay. 

It seemed Ron failed at most things, and the thought made his heart ache painfully. 

  
  


_ She laughed, _

_ “Darling, I’m not drinking to forget about you.” _

_ “Im drinking,  _

_ to forget about myself” _

_ -Unknown _

  
  


He doesn’t know what to say to Hermione anymore. 

When she berates him for being absent-minded, he sits there and tries to look properly chastised, but the truth is -- his memory escapes him sometimes. 

She says he’s always high, and she can’t remember the last time he was sober, and that they  _ all  _ had agreed to limit their drug use to weekends only. 

Draco and his fellow Slytherins said nothing, but the guilt in their eyes was apparent, even if no words were spoken. 

The truth was, they often escaped together to smoke, or drink, or snort -- underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch Pitch. It was probably the only place on the grounds that wasn’t tainted with death. 

“Hermione, I don’t need a fucking parent. I need a girlfriend, so stop bitching.”

“I’m not bitching at you, Ron. I’m just concerned,” her lower lip trembled. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how. I need you to be here, present, with me.”

He pulled her into his embrace, making shushing noises to quiet her sobs. 

He took a break to hit his pipe soon after, and hazily remembers sitting through his end of term Charms exam. The questions barely registered in his brain, and Ron didn’t expect to get anything better than an Acceptable. Even  _ that _ was pushing it. 

Ron thought about what Hermione said throughout the day, and that night when they made love, he tried to be present. But in reality, he only did the bare minimum to keep her secure, so Hermione wouldn’t think she’d done something wrong. 

Her words from earlier pierced through him. 

How did he tell her he couldn’t be there anymore? That he didn’t want to try?

  
  


_ “I saw the world in  _

_ black and white instead _

_ of the colors and shades  _

_ I knew existed” _

_ _ -Katie McGarry _ _

  
  


He _ hated _ being here even more than he hated being at Hogwarts. 

But his father had sent him an obligatory letter, stating his mother wanted her children home, and Ron didn’t have the heart to deny her anything. 

Ron, Harry, and Ginny spent the majority of the time trying to be the tape and glue holding together the slowly decaying family. 

His mother seemed to be crying at every given moment, and his father simply stared into the fire every night, as though the flames would give him life again. 

Bill and Fleur dropped by every day to tend to the needs of not only Molly, but George and Percy as well, both of whom seemed determined to shut themselves up in their rooms, never to be seen again. 

Ron and Ginny simply tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even if it was only giving his mother a small smile. 

Hermione stopped by on Christmas Eve, since she was spending the following day with her parents and their recently restored memories. Ron couldn’t help the feeling of growing resentment towards his girlfriend. She seemed to be getting better and had her family back, while _ Ron's _ family was quickly falling apart. 

Dinner on Christmas was anything but merry. That sat alongside each other and tried to make small conversation. But each attempt was drowned out by the oppressive empty seat next to George. 

“We have an announcement,” Bill stated at one point, and everyone looked at him expectantly, secretly cheerful to have a distraction. 

“Vee are expecting,” Fleur said with a smile. 

Hugs and congratulations were exchanged between family members, and Molly finally stopped crying long enough to smile a bit as she placed her hand over Fleur's slender abdomen. 

“My first grandchild, oh, how wonderful,” she said tearily. 

Looking around, she noticed George sitting down, looking for all the world like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

“George -- why don’t you come congratulate your brother, dear?” She asked kindly. 

“No -- I’m not going to sit here and act like everything is alright all of a sudden,” he said with heat, “But go ahead, carry on. I’ll just sit here and be the only one not acting like my brother isn’t dead.” 

It didn’t really matter that the anger was misplaced or the context was nonsensical, but his words were enough to stop the Burrow cold. 

“Of course we’re not,” Arthur said, his face pale. “We’re simply trying to have a nice meal with your other siblings…”

“Nice meal, right.” Georges scoff was nothing short of disdainful, and Ron felt his own eyebrows raise. 

“George, dear, please,” his mother begged, cleary on the verge of sobbing once again, “I know it's been hard..”

“You know nothing,” he stated angrily. 

“Oi! Don’t talk to Mum like that,” Ron felt himself saying, and he could feel his cheeks burn with more life than they had in months. “You’re not the only one who lost him, George.”

Silence. 

George's eyes shifted from pain to anger and back again before settling his features into a stony expression. 

“It’s all your fault. You and the fucking Boy Who Lived,” George said quietly, “If you hadn’t shown up, Fred wouldn’t have been distracted, and he would still be here. It’s all your fault. I wish it had been you.”

The only sound after his swift exit of the Burrow was his mother's pitiful sobbing. 

  
  


_ “I’m not brave anymore, darling.” _

_ -unknown _

  
  


“We haven’t spoken,” Ron stated, glancing around as his group of misfit friends. Draco, Theo, and Blaise all looked at him with a surprising amount of empathy -- and Ron thought it ironic that the people he confided in the most were his worst enemies up until recently. 

“He’ll come around,” Theo said in his melodic voice. “He just needs to mourn. He doesn’t have anything to distract him, from what you’ve said today.”

“He said he wished I was dead,” Ron whispered, and Hermione attempted to grab his hand but his fist, like his gut, refused to unclench. 

“You know he didn’t mean it, Ron,” Ginny said comfortingly, doing her best to be the last stitch keeping her family pulled together. 

“He really did," Ron said, and the others could not force themselves to lie to him. 

“Do you think he was right? That maybe I should’ve died? Maybe it would have been better that way.”

“No,” Ginny said firmly. “I miss Fred, but I would not sacrifice either one of you for the other. He’s gone, and you’re here. We all have to live with that.” 

He didn’t tell her that he was starting to really, really not want to. 

He glanced around noticing the dwindling number of eighth years. A few had not returned from the Holidays. Parvati was among those missing. She’d sent Harry, Ron, and Hermione a short note over Christmas explaining that she was returning to her homeland to finish her schooling. Being here was too painful for the vivacious witch, now that Lavender was gone. 

Pansy Parkinson hadn’t returned either, the world's genuine hatred of her ill-thought words at the final battle causing the witch to become a recluse. The stares and random hexes had been too much for her, and though Harry, Ron, and Hermione had done their best to quell their school's disdain for her, they’d been unsuccessful. 

Terry Boot, Daphne, and Astoria Greengrass were likewise gone, though none of their group knew why. 

It just seemed that everything changed for the worst. Ron felt himself losing hope, losing himself in a bottle. Just losing himself. Or maybe he’d always meant to become this person. 

Draco placed a solid hand on his shoulder, signaling that dinner was over, and they were making their way to the common room. 

“Sometimes I wish it was me, too,” was all he said.

Because really, what else was there to say?

  
  


_ “Life doesn’t stop for anybody.” _

_ _ \- Stephen Chbosky _ _

  
  


Her blurry image above him was probably alluring, and his body was responding - but the sensation was dull. He couldn’t focus. 

Her body was thrusting against his in an up and down motion, her head was tossed back and she was making small moans of satisfaction. 

He just wanted to sleep. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And suddenly, she was off of him and throwing her clothes on, and a sick moment of clarity hit him. 

Her image no longer distorted, he saw she had a steady stream of tears flowing down her cheeks, and her nose was reddening at a rapid rate. 

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep pretending like your complete disregard for life is okay, Ron,” Hermione said miserably. “Loving you this way  _ hurts. _ You don’t care about anything anymore aside from getting your next fix. Look around you!” 

She threw her hands wide, and Ron pondered the action, actually looking around though he knew her motions were purely for emphasis. 

“I know,” She said, visibly working to calm herself. “I  _ know  _ you are suffering, I  _ know  _ you lost Fred. But  _ I’m  _ still here!”

There was a sinking feeling, a sense of foreboding that told him she would be gone if he didn’t say anything. 

“I know you are, Hermione, but I can’t be who you want me to be right now,” he found himself saying. 

No. 

Stop. 

The voice inside his head told him to keep her there, to give her the platitudes she needed to stay. The selfish desire to keep with him the one thing he’d come to depend on for so long. To keep him from feeling so alone, and insignificant. 

But a tiny part of him that knew she deserved better, that knew he had to let her go find some piece without him - spoke up. That tiny piece knew she didn’t need to have him in her life, this way, anymore. He thought it might be a permanent thing, soon. 

“We’re done, Hermione. You know I love you,” he said, watching her grief stricken face. “But I can’t show you right now, and it’s not fair for me to hold you back. You’re my best friend, and you deserve someone whole, who can love you right.”

She begged him, and it almost made him reconsider. Almost. 

When Harry found him, hours after her departure, he was barely breathing.

  
  


_ “If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, _

_ Life will reward you with a ‘Hello’.” _

_ _ \- Paulo Coelho _ _

  
  


The last few months of school were the worst. 

He had promised Harry that it wouldn’t happen again, that he would stop, that he had just ended things with Hermione and took it too far. 

Harry, bless him, trusted Ron so implicitly that he did not question him. 

Standing there, watching Hermione Granger, valedictorian, recite a speech about their triumphs and hopes for a better future did not inspire him to be great. 

The reality was that he had no job offers, no future. He had money from war reparations, with which he purchased a flat in muggle london. But that was it. 

George had sent him a letter apologizing, and asking if he would consider running Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes with him. Ron had accepted a little prematurely. The thought of taking Freds place put a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

“I always knew Hermione would take the top spot when we graduated,” Harry said easily as they walked towards her. 

Harry hugged her tightly, and Ron stood to the side, a small smile on his face. 

“Wotcher, Mione’,” he said, and watched the way her eyes tightened slightly. “You were brilliant, and I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Ron,” Hermione said graciously. 

She made no move to touch him. 

Ron did his best not to let those thoughts get to him. He had a job to do. 

“I just wanted to say, I know things have been rough between us lately,” he said, and she waited with baited breath whilst Harry pretended to be oblivious and meander off towards their collective friends and family. “But, I love you, and I wanted you to know how sorry I am. You’re the reason I’ve made it this far, and I don’t think I ever thanked you enough.”

He could see her getting upset, and he cursed himself for always cocking everything up. 

“Anyway,” he said, “I just wanted to say that, and to let you know Mum will expect you to come around soon.”

Ron walked away then, leaving her shell-shocked and made his way over to Harry. The two friends hoped Hermione would have accepted Harrys invitation to go to the Leaky, but Hermione and Ginny decided they’d like to have some girl time, whatever that meant. Ron knew that Hermione hated that kind of thing, and figured she was just wanting to avoid him. 

“You ready, Ron? Harry said breezily, and Ron raised his head to meet his best friends eye. 

A brilliant shade of emerald green. 

Killing Curse Green. 

Most of the wizarding world was terrified of that spell, but Ron thought it might be peaceful. It was painless, there would be no suffering. The thought was appealing. 

“Yea, Mate,” Ron said, smiling. “I think I am.”

  
  


_ “Remember me, and smile.” _

_ _ -Dr. Seuss  _ _

  
  


_ “ _ Okay, you can do this,” Hermione whispered furiously to herself and she trudged up the stairs. “Don’t be a coward, Granger.” 

She had gotten his address from Harry after a little nitpicking. She knew he’d asked to be alone, and Hermione had thought it would be the most opportune moment to get to him without interruption. 

The Wizarding World had knocked some of the common sense out of the usually brilliant Witch. She knew what depression looked like. She suffered from it herself, and she’d read enough Muggle Psychology books that she should have recognised his symptoms for what they were. She had been berating herself for days. 

Their break up had been heartwrenching. But Hermione had respected his decision to end things for what it was; selfless. 

Now it was Hermiones turn to do the same for Ron. She loved him. So, so much, and she would mend things between them. She would get him the help he needed, and they would be okay. 

She could envision the smile on his face, the smattering of freckles across his nose. Those were her favorite things about him - besides his heart. She made a silent promise to herself to take better care of him. 

The flat was on the third floor, and Hermione huffed and puffed as she trudged up the stairs because,  _ honestly? Who doesn’t have an elevator?  _

She made her way to the end of the hall, and, taking a deep breath, she knocked. 

And waited. 

And waited some more. 

Hermione twisted the door handle, not surprised when it didn’t budge. 

Withdrawing her wand, she whispered, “Alohamora.”

The door creaked on its hinges as she swung it open, and the first thing she noticed was that the apartment was barren, and quiet. Too quiet. 

“Ron?” she called out hesitantly, “It’s Hermione!”

Stepping across the threshold, she noted that there were no pictures, no blinds, no typical creature comforts of any kind. 

“Ron?” she called again, and a deep sense of foreboding settled into the pit of her stomach, though she wasn’t quite sure why. 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she called out again. 

The door to the bedroom was closed, and Hermiones sense of dread grew because putting two and two together had always been relatively easy to her. 

No one had heard from Ron in days. 

No one had seen him out and about. 

No one had been invited over. 

Ron had been suffering from depression. 

Unmedicated. Alone.

“Ron!” her voice grew louder, more frantic, and her hand trembled against the bedroom doorknob. 

_ He’s just not home. He’s just not home,  _ she thought desperately, and opened the door. 

  
  


_ “Goodbye,” you said.  _

_ “Goodbye,” I said.  _

_ And no one thought twice  _

_ About it.  _

_ _ -Unknown _ _

_ 12 hours earlier…  _

No one had ever been inside of Ron Weasleys flat. 

If they had, they might have found it odd. 

The furniture was sparse. In fact, there was only a single chair, and a table. The rest of the apartment was empty save for a bed in the back bedroom. 

A little like he was. 

Harry wasn’t set to stop by for a day or two. Ginny either. His family knew he’d asked to be alone for a few days, and they respected his wishes grudgingly. 

He counted out the letters on the table for his parents, Harry, Ginny, George, Percy, Bill and Fleur, his Slytherin friends. One slightly longer one for Hermione. All set out and easy to find. 

He was fully dressed, because he didn’t want anyone to be embarrassed. 

He pondered for a second, lying down would be good, right?

He made the bed with quick, precise movements, and laid down on top of the covers. 

He hadn’t felt this jittery since the last time he’d played on the Quidditch team, and smiled at the thought. 

Anticipation - that’s what it was. 

He grabbed his wand, and took a couple of deep, calming, breaths. 

_ “Avada Kedavra.” _

  
  
  


The End


End file.
